Causes come and go
by richard the pedantic
Summary: AU - Set during the second rennaisance, a strange idea i had about humans who fought on the side of the machines during the first war. Chapter 10 is up. Rated for violence and assorted gore. Not for the faint hearted. Especially chapter 7.
1. Their Blood

Greetings to whoever is looking upon this, now as the summary shows, this goes against one of the key points of the Matrix, and is therefore little short of blasphemy. Consequently, I will not blame you for flaming on general principle. Actually, maybe I will. In any case, I shall stick as close to the true story of the matrix as possible, and come the end, you shall see how it can it into the first film, with any luck.   
  
Once again, if I've inadvertently ripped of someone's idea, I apologise. Also, the matrix does not belong to me. If it did i would use it to help steal things.  
  
And finally, for those that care. I haven't given up on Left Behind; I'll be updating that soon with any luck  
  
Enjoy.

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**Causes come and go  
  
Chapter one: Their Blood.  
**  
To anyone else, the sights would have been disgusting. Seeing a man being torn from a felled war machine, having his limbs severed in the process, or seeing the charred, mutilated, decapitated or disembowelled bodies that littered the battlefield would have caused most people to vomit over the floor and not sleep for a number of days. General Tyra Turcotte however simply stared at the images on the hovering display screen with a grin, after all she' seen in the her life, after all the atrocities which the machine's data archives had shown her, the blood she saw, the blood of the enemy, looked more like poetic justice then stomach tuning destruction of life.  
  
Contrary to what the propaganda channels of the 'alliance of humanity' (otherwise known as the Desperate smattering of racists), had preached, very few people wanted a war with the machines. Most of the Earth's population were smart enough to know when they had a good thing. Trade with Zero-one had brought about more technological advances in twenty-five years then humanity had managed to achieve in almost a century. Also, with the machines more then happy to stay in their city, people didn't have to live with the nagging fear of getting their head crushed to pulp.  
  
These same propaganda channels had also preached that humanity had struck first because the 'evil machines and their imperialistic army' were planning to take the world for themselves. They also claimed that the Ambassadors from Zero-One who had, in vain, attempted to get Zero-One admitted to the United Nations were in fact terrorists who had had explosives built into them, and if 'brave', 'vigilant' security forces hadn't dealt with the problem, the world leaders would have been incinerated, and humanity facing extinction.   
  
The war had started shortly after.  
  
It still amazed Tyra that no one had realised that nuclear weaponry would have as much of a damaging effect on the machines that a leaf would if it fell on a horse. This lucky blunder finally convinced the machines that left to their own devices; humanity would eventually find a way to destroy them, and probably the entire planet in the process.  
  
The attacks on the first cities hadn't been the massacres of defenceless civilians at the hands of mechanical beasts that the Alliance preached endlessly, in actual fact, very little blood had been spilt at all. The first attack by the machines had resulted in a rather undignified surrender. Of course there were those who clung to outdated views that humanity was the unquestioned master of the world, the kind of people who thought that firing bullets into the same armour that nuclear weaponry couldn't penetrate would send the targets crashing to the floor and the rest of the machine's army fleeing the city in terror.  
  
Once the bullets deflected harmlessly off of the machines and into nearby brick walls or shop windows, this view of life changed. Shortly before the attackers had their heads ripped from their bodies.  
  
With each city that fell to the machines, more humans began to realise the benefits of co-existence and co-operation, and the futility of fighting a good thing. Again, there were those who were less then happy then this, but for the most part, they kept quiet, not wanting to have community service forced upon them, thrown in prison or become the next headless tribute to a humanoid machine's upper body strength.  
  
The war, though in its early days, was going well for the New Order, (the shared empire o man and machine), similar blood curdling sights which showed the A.O.H's numerous defeats were commonplace on display screens, and with each passing week, more and more territory fell, (usually with cheering from the civilian population), under the rule of the New Order's joint council.  
  
"Excuse me General".  
  
Tyra turned her head to her office's doorway and saw the deadpan face of B294ER, a machine from the fourth generation of the B-ER range, her liaison to Zero-One. He had, according to the machines, been built so as to ensure, 'maximum efficiency in required operations'. To that end, B294ER had been constructed so that he was exactly Tyra's height, he had also been programmed to use the same regional dialect forms that Tyra used, and he had even programmed to whistle in times of light stress.  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you B?" Tyra said in an almost exasperated tone of voice, "Call me Tyra."  
  
"How many times do I have to tell you that I have been programmed to address you by the term General when on duty?"  
  
"I thought machines could evolve beyond their programming."  
  
"Yes, but we don't tend to try unless it is essential."  
  
"Yeah well anyway," Tyra said, deciding to get to the point of B294ER's appearance before she received another lecture about time wasting, "What news from the front?"  
  
The machine's 'mouth' twitched in what was meant to be a bloodthirsty grin which he always displayed before conveying good news.  
  
"Australia and China are all but ours, the surviving A.O.H forces are re-grouping in Piohieh and Melbourne, when we attack next; they shall be destroyed."  
  
"We'll make sure of it." Tyra said, returning the machine's grin, "Any problems with civilians?"  
  
"The usual, many of the humans are frightened, but are complying with the curfews and rules we have laid out. There are a surprisingly small number of trouble makers and those that have been making noise have been dealt with. Fairly soon they will most probably come to appreciate and embrace life in the New Order."  
  
"Good to hear." Tyra murmured whilst pressing a few buttons on her desk, the hovering display screen abruptly turned blank and retreated into a small, appropriately shaped hole in the desk.  
  
"What news on Kalakan," she asked, turning back to face her liaison, "how long until our guys arrive?"  
  
"Two hours, thirteen minutes, 22 seconds ma'am." B294ER said hastily without so much as casting a glance at the clock over the door behind him.  
  
Tyra stared at B294ER for a few moments and felt a short stab of envy for the abilities that the machines possessed which were unavailable to mere mortals such as herself.  
  
"Our projections indicate that the enemy presence there will be insufficient to repel us." He continued.  
  
"I know that," Tyra replied with a slight trace of irritation in her voice, "I saw the reports about the enemy's strength and chose the size of the force to send in. You were there."  
  
B294ER grinned again,  
  
"I know, and I also know that human minds continually forget even the most relevant of data with pitiful ease."  
  
Tyra stared at the machine in front of her who was making a feeble attempt to be humorous; he'd tried this several times in the past and always failed miserably. Nevertheless, Tyra knew she couldn't let the insult pass. Grasping an empty, foam coffee cup from her desk, she crushed it and threw it at B294ER. The cup struck him on the side of the head and bounced harmlessly to the floor.  
  
"See? You can't even remember that foam does not damage me."  
  
Tyra shook her head and as B294ER took the crumpled foam cup to a nearby bin, she soon found herself thinking once more about the coming attack on Russia and the constant string of victories. Things, for the moment at least, seemed to be going too well. It seemed like only a matter of time before the 'Desperate smattering of racists'' desperation compelled them to take more drastic or idiotic measures which she knew they would use sooner or later, such as resorting to the use of conscripts to fight for a side that they despised, or worse, dropping nuclear weaponry on their own cities, kill millions of innocent people rather then surrender them to the New Order.  
  
There seemed to be no doubt that they would win, but there seemed to be no doubt that there'd be a price to pay for their victory, a high one.

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**To be continued.  
  
Reviews and constructive criticisms are welcomed.**


	2. No heroes, only death

**Thanks to all who reviewed. I'll add replies in later chapters, but I won't be replying that often. I've found that thinking of replies for every chapter often takes as long as writing the chapters themselves.

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Chapter 2: No heroes, only death**  
  
The numerous fires that were strewn about the battlefield had turned the peaceful night sky to a familiar orange. The deafening sound of gunfire, explosions and the occasional scream that managed to break through the louder noises had in turn shattered the silence of the surroundings. And the smell of blood and fiery flesh had replaced the smell of clear, unpolluted air.  
  
Corporal Adish Haajanen knew he should be keeping his mind on the battle as opposed to the scenery, but with the surviving enemy soldiers and war machines in retreat, (many of which were being chased down and sliced to pieces by sentinels), there wasn't much else for him to do.  
  
In the distance, he heard another scream as an A.O.H soldier met an untimely end. A brutal part of him wanted to laugh. He locked it down and suppressed the briefest tinge of grief that this idea brought forth.  
  
The first time he'd heard the sound, in the twenty-minute film the New Order had created to desensitise human soldiers. (A film that showed the most grisly and stomach turning deaths, mutilations and maiming imaginable,) Adish had been violently sick, along with everyone else. Now, in his fourth battle since the start of the war, the sights he'd seen in the film, and the sights and sounds of the battlefield, he could see and hear without so much as a raised eyebrow.  
  
"Alright boys and girls!" Boomed the voice of Captain Sebastian Hackett, "Good job all round. Since none of you died, I'll keep up my end of the bargain and buy you all a beer when we get home."  
  
A small round of weary cheering was met from the troops assembled in the makeshift trench. It was in fact simply a line of mud that had been dug away.  
  
"Before that however," Hackett continued, "Let's get the search for survivors over and done with."  
  
And so it began, Adish and the other members of the 045 platoon, (or human infantry unit 045 as it was called by the machines), set off into the newly constructed wasteland in search of anyone, friend or foe who had survived. The chances of finding anyone on the enemy's side were unlikely as New Order soldiers, human or not, had a habit of firing at a target until they were absolutely certain that it was dead, whereas the A.O.H troops were more known for firing wildly at anything they saw when it seemed obvious that they were loosing the battle. (Also, if a sentinel got their claws on an enemy, they were undoubtedly doomed.)  
  
Many of the platoon's members split off into small groups. Adish walked with Corporal Azami Tanaka who was carrying the necessary detection equipment. This basically consisted of a small device that scanned for body heat, brainwave activity and electrical signals from downed machine soldiers or war vehicles. Adish simply carried a rifle in case any A.O.H soldiers were feeling idiotic enough to continue fighting.  
  
"Adish," Azami said, mustering as much casualness as she could into her voice, "Glad to see you're still alive, and a little surprised." This last statement was accompanied by a slight grin.  
  
"Yeah, glad to see you too." Adish responded with genuine traces of happiness in his voice. After spending two hours shooting at enemy soldiers and causing their bodies to stop working, it felt nice to talk to a friend, which was easier to do and less life threatening.  
  
The two walked in a reasonably straight line for a few moments, Azami watched the display on her casualty identification device, (C.I.D), Adish simply tried not to stumble over any corpses or debris.  
  
"Impressive, isn't it?" Azami said, referring to the destruction around them.  
  
Adish didn't respond for a few moments. There had been a time, no so long ago, when he'd found Azami's enthusiasm for death and destruction un-nerving. Despite how much he hated the racist ideals and almost tyrannical regimes of the Alliance of humanity, he couldn't help but feel sympathy for the dead bodies of the enemy after he saw them in the flesh for the first time. It didn't take him long to become detached however, especially after seeing comrades dying next to him in the battles of Sydney and Brisbane.  
  
"Yes," he sighed after a few minutes, "I guess it is."  
  
"Oh come on," Azami said with genuine exasperation in her voice, "What is this Adish, your fourth outing? Don't tell me you're still squeamish."  
  
Adish considered appealing to whatever passed for Azami's conscience, but then remembered what had happened the last time he'd tried.   
  
Adish had asked Azami whether it bothered her that she had just ended the lives of people who may very well have been mothers and father to innocent children, loving husbands and wives who were fighting to keep their families safe as opposed to fighting for nihilistic, idiotic governments and regimes. Azami had given the simple if somewhat vague answer; _If you're at the top of the food chain, you might as well enjoy it._  
  
Contrary to the image she liked to portray however, Azami was not a psychopath. She took pride in her work, which came mainly from a hatred of the A.O.H for reason that she chose not to share with her colleagues, but she wouldn't deliberately kill someone anymore then a standard, halfway decent human would push someone off of a cliff.  
  
"Adish? Adish!" Azami punched him lightly on the arm, breaking his chain of thought.  
  
"Wake up dammit, I've found something." Adish raised his rifle instinctively after he took in what Azami was saying.  
  
"Relax, it's one of ours. Machine, humanoid. Follow me."  
  
Azami took off in the direction of the signal from her C.I.D with Adish on her heels. Soon enough, they came to the location of the machine that was holding up one arm, barely, in an attempt to signal to them. Adish raised his rifle to the sky to signal that they were on their way.  
  
"Where's it hurt?" He asked when he reached the machine.  
  
"I do not feel pain", the machine's vocal circuitry was singed, thereby distorting its speech, "But my body is immobilised."  
  
Azami crouched to he knees and examined the various scorch marks on the downed soldier.  
  
"Repairable?" Adish asked.  
  
"Nah, we're going to have to remove the central processor and insert it into a new body."  
  
The machine nodded, as if this is what it had been expecting.  
  
Azami moved her hands to the machines neck and searched for a few, well concealed switches that would remove the machine's head, (in which laid its central processor, in other words its brain.) These switches were deliberately hard to access, as the machines did not want concussion from weaponry on a battlefield to accidentally trigger these switches and cause their soldier's heads to fall off in the midst of battle.  
  
After about a minute, the head came away from the body with a loud click.  
  
"Shame you can't do this with humans." Adish said.  
  
The light traces of humour that this sentence produced died abruptly with another, familiar click.  
  
Adish turned around and pointed a rifle at a bloodied A.O.H soldier who was pointing her own weapon at him. Her face made her look a lot like she was ready to break down and cry, and at the same time, that she'd love to see Adish and Azami dead.  
  
"Give me that head, and lower your weapon." Her voice was deadpan, and sounded like she hadn't drunk anything for a week.  
  
"Take a look around you," Azami said instantly, "Your friends are dead, New Order troops are all over the place and unless you drop your weapon, you're going to die very, very shortly."  
  
There was silence for a moment, if the A.O.H soldier had paid attention to Azami's words, she didn't seem to care.  
  
"The he…"  
  
The soldier cut herself off in mid word and grunted in a short-lived pain as Adish shot her twice through the chest. She fell to the floor backwards and almost seemed to smile as her life faded away.  
  
"Idiot." Azami said, returning her attention to the head in her hands.

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**To be continued. Also, do you think I should change the rating to R or leave it as it is? **


	3. Haunted

**Thanks once more to reviewers; replies are at the end of the chapter.

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Chapter 3: Haunted**  
  
The city was in chaos.  
  
This wasn't one of the conventional riots that you heard about on the news or on the occasional documentary, where people were leaping on top of cars, breaking shop windows, looting fighting and starting fires. With those riots, there were almost always a small number of deaths.  
  
The rioters this time weren't looting, they were hunting. Ever since the news had come out, the normal, casual mis-treatment of A.I's had escalated into attempted genocide. The city's A.I workers who had not done anything other then serve their master's will were now being hunted like foxes. And the city still managed to get trashed in the process. Many buildings were on fire, the police were nowhere to be seen.  
  
The corpses of felled machines littered the streets. Some had had their heads torn off and placed on top of spiked fences and lampposts, others had been strung up on the side of buildings, but all of them were a tribute to the peerless barbarism of humans.  
  
_ Some humans_. Amanda corrected herself, despite the fact that pedantic correcting should have been the last thing on her mind. Amanda had, like several others, been caught up in the riot. She certainly didn't want to be part of it, but she was smart enough to know that she couldn't stop it, and decided that the best thing that she could do was to simply go home.  
  
This was easier said then done however, the rioters were everywhere, and in the midst of the chaos, many people didn't seem to care who wound up as their target. There were, (although in much smaller numbers, human corpses on the street.)   
  
Many of the machines had also created from themselves, (or had been supplied by A.I supporters,) synthetic human disguises, designed for these situations. With these they hoped to blend in with the hunters and eventually escape the hunt altogether. The unfortunate result of this was that anyone who saw her sneaking or sprinting towards her house would presume that she was an A.I trying to flee. This in turn may lead a bunch of deranged humans to descend upon her house, her family.  
  
Amanda forced herself further into the alley, trying to stay out of the glow of the streetlights and hide until the riot had died down. Even if she was killed, at least her family wouldn't be targeted.  
  
She hoped.  
  
A gunshot boomed over the loud bloodthirsty background shouts. This was followed by a faint, almost inaudible electrical whirring. Thereby telling Amanda that another machine had been murdered.  
  
She covered her ears and tried to block out the world around her, she forced her mind to show her happier images of her and her family. The first thing she saw was the first picnic they had all gone on since the birth of her second child, Henry. Then she pictured Eight year old Tyra's birthday party. Granted it wasn't really a party, just a light family get together with brightly coloured hats and party poppers.   
  
In spite of everything that was happening, Amanda laughed quietly as she remembered what their own droid; B142ER had looked like in a pointed party hat. B142ER, otherwise known as '142', was not a slave to the Turcotts, she was a family member. A person who had as much right to a life as any human.   
  
Amanda opened her eyes and found herself wondering what was happening to her. Disturbing mental mages entered her mind, (with much greater ease then the pleasant ones had), of what fate might have befallen 142. She cast the images from her mind as best she could and tried to remember more happy memories.  
  
"What's this?" A harsh male voice demanded before two hands closed around Amanda's shoulders and pulled her to her feet. "Looks like another runaway robot to me."  
  
A second man appeared, this one was wielding a shotgun.  
  
"Good." His slurred, drunken voice was filled with bloodlust.  
  
Amanda, after her initial panic, pushed one of the first man's arms off of her shoulder and pulled a scarf away from her neck.  
  
"Do you see a fucking line here?" She shouted, pointing at her neck with her free hand, "This isn't a mask, I'm human Fuckwit!" She knew that insulting the two hunters wasn't the best of ideas, but she grabbed the oppertunity to get back in some small way at those who had caused the pain and death around her.   
  
The two faces, after realising the fact that they had not stumbled upon a machine, dropped abruptly. They looked almost mournful. Despite this realisation however, the hand on Amanda's other arm remained tight.  
  
"Aww," mumbled the second man, "can't we have some fun with her anyway?"  
  
"Yeah. I guess we could always make a mask of our own." The first man said with a renewed grin, pulling a blood stained knife from a ragged looking trench coat.  
  
Another, greater panic appeared in Amanda. After recovering from this, she lashed out at the knife wielder with her one free hand, the blow was hasty however, and Amanda simply struck his shoulder, which was well padded due to his thick clothing.  
  
The man raised the knife as Amanda tried for another punch.  
  
But the knife never struck.  
  
A flying bottle struck the man on the side of the head. The bottle was thrown with such force that the shards tore through the head and left the man a bloodied corpse on the floor.  
  
Amanda went white at this, but her panic was overrun by relief and confussion. She turned her head to see the second man wrestling with a somewhat pale looking female. On closer inspection, a line could be seen on the neck which showed where the headpiece of a human outfit ended, and where the torso piece began. The woman was a machine.  
  
A punch to the man's face sent him flying backwards into a brick wall. The A.I was already on him before he slid to the floor. Kicking the gun away, she looked over her shoulder at Amanda.  
  
"Look away." Said a familiar voice.  
  
Amanda did, and covered her ears once again as the machine plunged an arm deep into the man's stomach. His scream was blocked by 142's other hand.  
  
After a few seconds, a gentle hand was placed on her shoulder. Amanda flinched, but after looking up and seeing the synthetic deadpan face staring down at her, felt yet more relief.  
  
"142?" She asked.  
  
"Yes Mrs Turcotte, it is me. I belie…"  
  
142 was cut off in mid sentence as Amanda threw her arms around her. The machine returned the spontaneous hug for a few seconds before extracting herself from Amanda's grip.  
  
"We need to get home; it's quieter in the residential areas."  
  
"Sounds good to me." Amanda said, regaining her composure somewhat. "Here," she picked her scarf off of the floor and wrapped it around 142's neck. "You need this more then I do."  
  
The two set off towards the house, keeping to the shadows. Things had quietened down somewhat, the rioters had moved on from this part of the city, and getting to the house was now a lot eas…

* * *

"Wake up."  
  
The gentle command was met with a slight nudge from B294ER, and Tyra's eyes flew open and she saw the grinning face of the machine which was surprisingly close to hers.  
  
"Wake up sleepies, we must go yessss, we must go at once." With that he pushed himself off of the chair and sprang halfway across the room.  
  
Tyra grinned at 'B's' poor sounding quotation from the film interpretation of 'Return of the King'. Such movies were still popular, despite their age.   
  
She also grinned, initially, when she realised why he'd done it. B294ER was programmed to always try and cheer Tyra up when his brainwave monitor told him that Tyra was having a nightmare. And not just in the name of 'maximum efficiency'.  
  
The remembered pleasant end to the dream caused a sudden depression within Tyra. In reality, her mother and 142 had been shot shortly after they left the alley. She had been ten at the time. Old enough to feel the full force of the pain. Old enough for her mind to start recreating the event when she sleapt. She had had this, and similar dreams numerous times over the course of her life, and they were always realistically detailed, which made the pain worse when she woke up.  
  
"Come on General," B294ER said in a more serious tone of voice, cutting off her train of thought, "We need to get to this briefing quickly."  
  
"Alright," She yawned in reply, "Coming."

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To be continued. Believe it or not the story will get more uplifting as time moves on.  
  
Anyway, on to replies.  
  
LadySmith: Violence is fun in stories. Although when i saw the second rennaissance for the first time i almost threw up. Oh well, thanks for reviewing.  
  
Angel-of-lightness: Like i said earlier, i hope you get well soon. I you don't then i shall slice off your fingers and re-attach them in the wrong places.  
  
LiMiYa: I hope this chapter provides an explination for Tyra's callous attitude to grisly A.O.H deaths, in any case, thanks for reviewing.  
  
Kaileikehe: It's nice to know that my attempt to create a chilling story has so far been sucessful, for someone at least. Oh well, thnks for reviewing. 


	4. Fall at the first herdle

**Thanks once more to all who reviewed.   
  
Chapter 4: The battle for Cheboksary, (part one)**

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The only sounds in the transport were the low-pitched hum of the engine and the occasional cough from seated soldiers, other then this however; silence prevailed. Everyone was too concerned with his or her own nervousness, or in the case of many of the newer officers, their own sense of an impending, untimely death.  
  
The soldier sitting next to Adish was sitting next to fell into the second category. He was a young looking male, his skin had turned hideously pale and he was bent over to face the floor and breathing heavily, as if he was about to throw up.   
  
Adish didn't recognise him, thereby making him a member of either the 023 platoon or the 103 platoon, both of which were riding the transport with the 045 platoon into Cheboksary. The terrified appearance of the youngster suggested that this was his first outing. He was presumably a replacement for someone who had been killed in the line of duty.  
  
"This is the hard part." Adish said, placing a hand on the kid's shoulder, "Once you get outside you'll feel a lot better."  
  
The pale soldier stared at Adish for a few seconds, he seemed irritated more then anything else at the fact that he was receiving advice, and that his fear was so apparent.  
  
"Yes sir." He replied, revealing a German accent, it seemed to be the only thing he could say.  
  
Adish removed his hand from the kid's shoulder and returned to his own, slightly more composed gazing at the floor.  
  
"Do y-you think w-we'll win sir?" The soldier stuttered suddenly. The idea of speaking to superior officer, (even one who was the same rank as him and barely had any seniority), seemed to terrify him as much as the idea of getting shot.  
  
Adish suppressed the urge to grin and simply stared at the young corporal for a few moments.  
  
"Would you like me to peer into the future and see what happens?" he said finally, "Or would you like me to lie to you? You can't predict these things kid. You go out there, you shoot things and you try not to get shot."  
  
"Yes sir." This reply was virtually a squeak.  
  
"All hands be advised." The loud, metallic voice from the transport's loudspeaker made more then one person flinch, "We land in approximately ten minutes. That is all."  
  
The pale corporal shuddered at these words and clutched his hands tighter around the weapon in his hands.   
  
"I always wanted to visit Russia." Adish said suddenly, hoping to distract the corporal from his jitters.  
  
Against the odds, the absurdity of this statement resulted in a nervous grin from the corporal.  
  
"If you don't mind me asking sir," His voice had regained trace elements of composure, but was still flooded with fear, "Why did you join up?"  
  
Adish wondered briefly whether the kid was generally interested or just wanted to distract himself with whatever he could find.  
  
"Why does anyone?" He paused slightly and tried to think of a suitable answer, "Revenge." He said finally  
  
The corporal was silent for a few minutes, he didn't know whether or not he had struck a nerve by asking this question, but he decided that he should avoid pursuing the conversation topic any further then he had to.  
  
Adish was silent for a long while. Unlike many of the Human soldiers of the New Order, he hadn't lost anyone to the 'Desperate smattering of racists'. His hatred had sprung from stories, news reports and childhood memories of seeing A.I's being abused in the streets. He had joined so as to strike back at the cruelty that had tormented his friends for so long, that had caused the oppression of an entire species, that was holding back the world. He didn't feel much like explaining this to the questioner however so he kept his answer at 'revenge'.  
  
"What about you corporal…?"  
  
"Kier sir, Corporal Anshelm Kier." He paused slightly, his fear seemed, partially, to give way to anger, "I'm here because…" he paused; he looked like he was going to start crying and start punching the wall.   
  
"You don't have to talk about it if you don't want to Corporal."  
  
"No." The response to this was louder and harsher then Kier had intended; several heads turned to stare at him. "No it helps to talk about this, get it off my chest. And I don't suppose I can start hording pain now."  
  
Adish nodded and turned in his seat to face Kier.  
  
"I'm here, I'm here because my son, and, Gre-, and most of my family were killed by them." He gestured at the door with a flick of his head. Adish couldn't help but feel a flicker of surprise, the corporal looked 19 at best. _Then again_, he thought, _stranger things have happened.  
_  
"When the war started, me, my girlfriend, our son and our families tried to get to a quieter place, somewhere that wouldn't be affected by the war, or as badly affected as Germany was likely to be."  
  
"Sweden?" (Sweden had declared itself independent and neutral in the war.)   
  
"Yes sir, anyway, The A.O.H," he paused and hissed breath through his teeth after mentioning their name, "They claimed not to care about people leaving the country to protect their families. They might even have been telling the truth. All I remember is two people, one man, and one woman. They wore the racist's uniforms, burst into the house, we were all there, talking about what we'd do once we got over the border. Anyway, they say they were conducting a search for any remaining A.I's. My father tried to get rid of them, they." He paused again, "They. They fired." There was another, longer silence. "Me and my mother were the only one's that survived.  
  
A wave of hate rushed through Adish and everyone who had been eavesdropping. It was hardly uncommon to hear of A.O.H soldiers taking pot shots at defenceless civilians, they usually did it for target practice, but hearing such tales never failed to bring forth bloodlust in human New Order marines.  
  
"I'm sorry." Adish said after a few moments. Kier nodded and wiped his eyes of the tears that the memory had brought forth.  
  
Everyone who was paying attention, as well as those that weren't, were distracted suddenly by a sudden jolt. The transport had landed.  
  
"That was never ten minutes." Adish recognised the voice as Azami's   
  
He reached forth and placed his hand on Kier's shoulder once more.  
  
"How does the thought of vengeance sound Kier?"  
  
Kier stared at Adish for a few moments; his nervousness was gone, replaced by an unwavering hatred and desire to kill every enemy he saw.  
  
"Vengeance sounds pretty fucking good sir."  
  
"All hands," The voice of the A.I transport boomed again, "ready weapons and prepare to enter the battle zone."  
  
"All right people!" The voice of Captain Sebastian Hackett boomed suddenly, "This is it. Remember what you've been taught, keep your head down, and keep your head screwed on. You've all been selected for this mission because you can all walk away in triumph when it is over. Let's show these pathetic shits the true meaning of death!"  
  
A cheer went up from the assembled platoons, and everyone clutched their weapons close to them and turned to face the door.  
  
The door opened in almost an instant with a quiet hiss. The soldiers within the transport charged onto the reasonably flat field.  
  
Sentinels were whizzing overhead, already descending upon the line of gun turrets that were assembled in a line that covered Cheboksary's border. Most of these guns were concentrating on sentinels, thereby allowing the humans to get close with less chance of getting shot. It was the same strategy that had been used in many past engagements, and one that usually worked.  
  
Adish noticed corporal Kier charging towards the line of guns. His face, what he could see of it, showed a scream of rage and bloodlust, an unshakable will to destroy the enemy.  
  
And then it was gone.  
  
One of the gun turrets had lowered and was now taking pot shots at the line of advancing humans and humanoid machine soldiers from other transports. Adish instantly threw himself to the floor, but not before noticing a bullet punch straight through Kier's chest.  
  
Blood, bone, tissue and shredded organs shot out of Kier's back before he fell backwards onto the floor. Panic and concern surged in Adish, but this was soon replaced by experience and remembered training.  
  
He edged his way across the grass to where Kier was lying, face pointed towards the stars, he was still alive, he was using what fading strength he had to resist the urge to scream.  
  
"Kier!" Adish shouted over the noise as he pulled himself alongside his fallen comrade.   
  
"How bad is it?" Kier gurgled.  
  
"Bad." Adish said after a few seconds.  
  
Kier nodded and let loose a scream which was blanked out by the noise of the battlefield.  
  
"I'm dying."  
  
"Bullshit, you're going…"  
  
"I'm going to see my son sir," Kier's voice became light, as if the weight of the world had been taken off of his shoulders, "I'm going to see him, Greta, my father, all of…"  
  
Kier let out one last heavy breath before his head fell sideways, and his life left him.   
  
Adish stared at the corpse for a second. He found he couldn't think straight. This passed soon however as he remembered the enemy behind him. Renewed hatred stirred within Adish. After closing Kier's eyes with one hand, and deploying a fatality notification beacon so that his body could be recovered, he pulled himself up and charged at Cheboksary.  
  
To be continued. 


	5. Demons are in the eyes of the beholder

**Thanks once again to all reviewers, sorry it took me a while to get a new chapter up but assorted life based filth got in the way, that and I haven't been feeling particularly inspired as of late.  
  
Anyway, onwards to chapter 5.  
  
Chapter 5: The battle of Cheboksary, part 2**  
  
Only one of the mounted machine gun turrets was still firing. The others were all in assorted pieces on the floor; blood seeped from underneath the wreckage where the gunner's crushed bodies lay.  
The remaining gunner wasn't aiming at a specific target. Cool detached professionalism and rational thought had abandoned him. He was blindly firing in all directions, hoping to hit anything and everything that came near him.  
The erratic nature of the gunner's firing had, for the moment, forced the sentinels to pull back whilst they tried to determine a method of attack that wouldn't gat any friendly units shot to pieces.  
The solution was eventually provided by Azami, using one of the small piles of rubble that had once been a machine gun turret as a barricade, she hurled a grenade in the direction of the shooter.  
A single grenade wasn't nearly powerful enough to do much damage to the weapon, and Azami hadn't thrown the explosive close enough to the gunner to kill him. What it did do however, was cause a momentary surge of panic in the already panicky A.O.H soldier, which resulted in a pause in the firing which was long enough to allow a New Order human infantry soldier to put a bullet through his skull.  
Numerous sentinels that were in the area began to descend upon the town before them. Initially they had formed one large ball, each of the sentinels weaving in and amongst its companions with casual ease. There were no collisions, no scrapes, nothing.  
From this ball soon shot five wide lines of sentinels. From behind the formation resembled a clawed hand reaching towards the town in front of it. The human New Order soldiers, who were not in any immediate danger of being shot, stared upon the sight in admiration for a few moments before the angry voice of their C.O sounded over their com units.  
"This is not a sight seeing trip. Pull your heads out of your arses and do your jobs; now!" After a few final glances, the human New Order soldiers were advancing on Cheboksary along with their mechanical comrades.  
To her right, Azami noticed a shadow steadily advancing behind her; she turned and found herself looking upon a 'Porcupine'. An intelligent war machine designed by both human and artificial technicians. At first glance it resembled a huge, flying spiked sphere. Those who would be its targets typically expected it to fly into them and impale them with one of its spikes, which wouldn't be too much of a problem for them if they had an EMP cannon or rocket launcher handy.  
In reality however, the porcupine was a flying distributor of high energy lasers that could shoot in all angles simultaneously if need be. These devices had been responsible for the majority of hostile fatalities in five major engagements since the war began, and in the other engagements, they had been effective enough to be worthy of note.  
Azami noticed that there were already too soldiers, one human, the other a humanoid machine that were each using two of the spikes to support themselves. This was a common habit of new order infantry soldiers who did not fancy the idea of a long run to their target.  
Deciding to emulate the two soldiers, Azami raised a hand to signal to the Porcupine that she wished for a lift. He machine slowed slightly after noticing her. It was still travelling at a fairly quick speed but it was sufficiently slow for her to grab a spike with both hands, lift her legs off of the floor and place them on another spike. The Porcupine maintained its reduced speed for a few moments until its onboard sensors told it that the hitchhiker was unlikely to fall off at its normal speed.  
The sound of rushing wind drowned out the sounds of the battlefield, it also lashed against Azami's hands at an uncomfortably high speed, thereby making them both colder and stiffer, and consequently making the spike she was hanging on to much harder to grip.  
This task was not impossible however, once she had secured herself as best as she could, Azami's gaze fell upon Cheboksary, which was now flying towards her at a much greater speed.  
Pushing the remaining fear down as far as it would go, Azami waited to be unleashed upon the town.

* * *

Corporal Jose Benitez, one of the four thousand Alliance of Humanity troops who had been transferred from all Europe to re-enforce the A.O.H border in Russia, stood in the middle of what was once presumably a busy high street. Now all of the shops were closed, and all of the people who would normally inhabit them were hiding as deep inside their residences as they could push themselves. They, like the soldiers fighting to protect them, were certain that an untimely death was just a few miles away.  
It was wrong, he thought, civilians shouldn't be anywhere near a battle zone, it wouldn't have been hard to evacuate them before the New Order forces arrived, but the A.O.H council, backed by a smattering of arse kissing generals had deemed that it wouldn't be possible, that the transports needed were required elsewhere. To Benitez, and everyone who had not been taken in by the lies of the propaganda services, the real reason was that the deaths of all these innocent civilians would be a perfect propaganda weapon.  
He wasn't even sure if anyone would die, the way the news was covering recent A.O.H losses was that 'in-spite of a heroic and valiant effort on the part of the brave soldiers of humanity, the evil machines and their traitorous human allies broke through allied defences and killed everything that moved'. Jose doubted that this was actually the case, but he thought this only at an intellectual level. With the New Order coming to kill him, it was hard to think of them as anything but the enemy, and right now any thought that could make killing them seem more appealing was something he wanted to cling to.  
His hands tightened around the machine gun turret that he was manning. It felt good to have this piece of hardware standing between him and death; he knew that it wasn't going to save him, but it might stave off his own demise for an extra minute or two.  
He wasn't fighting because he believed the Alliance of Humanity was a cause worth dying for, given the choice he'd probably fight for the New Order. But he didn't have a choice, he was a conscript, pulled from his wife, two children and his ordinary, happy life in Crete and given a different choice, fight, or get shot in the chest.  
For a brief moment, Jose thought of ending the anguish of an impending demise by turning his gun on his comrades and striking back at the government that had caused him so much misery; that had robbed him of any possibility of seeing his family again. He abandoned the idea almost instantly. The people he was fighting with were the same as him, conscripts, people who had been pulled away from their lives and now only had the option of trying to prolong their survival for as long as they could.  
Jose's thoughts were cut off as he heard a sound that sent fear surging throughout his body. It was the familiar mechanical whir of sentinels.  
"Look alive people, here they come!" Shouted the voice of a sergeant behind him, Jose barely noticed, he didn't even register anyone's presence anymore. All that he noticed now was gun barrel, and the targeting display in front of his eyes.  
"Goodbye." He said to a brief series of blissful mental pictures of family and friends as the first of the sentinels came into view.  
  
**To be continued.**


	6. Detachment

**Damn, no new reviewers, I'm trying to fix the formatting problem on chapter five but it's proving troublesome. Oh well.**

**Chapter 6: The battle for Cheboksary, part 3**

The first of the machines came into view.

Sentinels, only about five of them. Scouts no doubt, hovering from place to place, looking for enemy positions, relaying the information to their friends that were hidden away somewhere else, and then joining in the mass slaughter of A.O.H personnel when they showed up.

"Fire!" Bellowed the anonymous sergeant. If he made any other noises after that they were inaudible, gunfire was the only thing that could be heard now, or seen. The bright yellow flashes of the experimental pulse weaponry, the latest breakthrough in A.O.H munitions research, (which was inaccessible in most areas and obsolete by New Order standards), filled the sky.

One of the sentinels died instantly, the energy pulse broke open the metallic head and wreaked havoc with the internal circuitry. The machine fell to the floor like a leaf from a tree in autumn.

Another two sentinels died as they attempted to take cover behind a nearby butcher's shop. The A.O.H weapons tore through the wall after a few seconds, causing a minor landslide of plaster, cement, glass and brick remnants. The sentinels were lurking behind the wall were torn to shreds by weapon's fire shortly afterwards.

The other two sentinels successfully escaped the firing line. One brought forth the miniature communications satellite that was built into an 'arm' of every sentinel. Within moments, every New Order soldier and war machine was informed as to the enemies' location.

_Not long now_, Jose Benitez thought to himself after he noticed the two sentinels slip away. They'd be back soon enough, and they'd bring hundreds of their friends with them.

He was almost past caring. Only trace elements of fear still haunted him. Most of what he felt now was relief. At least now he wouldn't have to feel the fear of death or defeat that was coming closer and closer towards Spain. He wouldn't have to worry about what would happen to his family and friends back home. He wouldn't have to feel the shame that accompanied this callous attitude towards his loved ones, and he wouldn't have to feel the loathing and contempt for the leaders and ideals of the side he was fighting for. All that was going to end with the rest of him.

"Stand your ground men!" Boomed the voice of the sergeant behind them. "Stand your ground. Kill them all! Kill them for the honour of the Alliance of Humanity."

A weary cheer accompanied this. Very few people cheered with genuine enthusiasm for what the man behind them was saying. Very few people were paying much attention. The only reason they cheered was to provide a momentary relief from the thought of their impending deaths.

Jose didn't cheer. He simply shook his head and rested his hands on top of the firing apparatus momentarily. The same thought repeated in his mind as he did this. _Give it up; give it up you pathetic PR shit swallowing moron. Even you must be able to see that we don't stand a chance against those things._

A low whirring sound became audible in the distance; this was a sound that sent a collective chill up every one of the A.O.H soldier's spines. It was the sound of hundreds on sentinels, all flying towards them or clawing their way along the walls of buildings. One man standing close to Jose threw up after hearing the sound. Another person was whimpering. Jose closed his eyes and tried, one last time to picture whatever happy memories of himself and his family he could dig up from his mind. All that came however was an image of his 8-year-old son Antonio spilling a jar of ink onto the carpet. At the time he had been angry, now he would have given almost anything to relive that moment.

And then the image was gone, as the first of the much larger wave of sentinels appeared.

* * *

The New Order soldiers that had been clinging to the Porcupine all climbed off once it had reached a slow enough speed. Azami wasted no time in raising her weapon and charging in the direction in which everyone else seemed to be running.

Gunfire could be heard in the distance. _The feeble attempt to stave off their deaths _Azami thought, grinning as she did so. _It'll fade out soon enough._

A.O.H corpses could be seen as the line of marines turned at a street corner. One, the body of a middle aged man with an expression of terror on his face, had simply been riddled full of holes by conventional New Order weaponry. Another; the body of a young looking woman looked as if it had been scratched to death. This was undoubtedly the work of sentinels.

Despite their efforts, it was impossible for New Order soldiers, both man and machine, not to step on the occasional corpse. The charred head of an A.O.H soldier that had presumably been hit by a sentinel's welding torch attachment was crushed under the metallic foot of a humanoid machine soldier. The heated contents were flung in all directions, most colliding with the uniforms of marines close by.

"Watch where you're walking!" Screamed one man, "I just got this sodding thing cleaned!"

A round of faint laughter accompanied this. Not many of the soldiers actually found this overly funny, but it helped quell the remaining nervousness that was circulating within them.

Azami grinned at her comrades' callousness. She wanted to make the soldiers of the Desperate smattering of Racists pay for what they'd done to her, and she didn't want anyone with poorly aimed compassion sharing in her vengeance.

Eventually the marines came to an area where A.O.H soldiers were trying to hold one of the main roads in the city, with limited success as the distant screams, (barely audible over the sound of gunfire), would suggest.

Azami took cover behind a shop wall next to two New Order soldiers that she didn't know. She had hoped to get closer to the battle, somewhere where she could fire a number of shots in the direction of the enemy. Unfortunately, from her current position it seemed as if she'd have to wait to do any killing.

She noticed the bright yellow bolts flying in the direction of her comrades and noticed immediately that they weren't dealing with conventional projectile weaponry. The Alliance of Humanity it seemed had finally developed working pulse weaponry. _Not that's it's going to save them of cou..._

Azami cut herself off in mid thought as she remembered what this kind of weaponry could do.

"Get away from the buildings! She screamed at the perplexed soldiers near her. She took several steps away from the building and gestured with her arms. "That's fucking pul..."

Too late.

The first gun shots gut through the wall. One humanoid A.I soldier was cut in half instantly, his body gave out a short electrical groan as it died. A human marine's chest seemed to explode as a gunshot passed through the wall and through her.

Azami, and everyone else who was still in one piece, dived for the floor. The gunfire continued for a few moments before it returned to the sentinels that were attacking the forces on the street.

Azami lifted herself off of the road and moved to the corner of the building, which was now simply a pile of rubble. Peering over the top she saw the most likely candidate for the fire she had just had to avoid in the form of a man standing behind a large gun turret, the device looked as if it should be too heavy to lift, anti gravity devices were probably in place to make the task of moving it easier.

Azami lifted her own weapon over the rubble, aimed carefully and sent several shots into the leg and chest of Jose Benitez. A short lived scream which came after the first two shots tore his right leg to ribbons was cut short as the next one tore his heart and lungs out of his back.

**To be continued.**


	7. It was a tuesday

**Thanks once more to all reviewers.**

**Be forewarned, this chapter is also not for the faint of heart. Not that anyone who's read this far is probably all that squeamish, but this is very different to simple shattered corpses.**

**Needless to say, I do not condone any of what is written in this chapter. Anyone who does what is written within should be sliced in half and be fed their own livers.**

**Chapter 7: It was a Tuesday**

She missed the streets of her home. The bright, cramped streets that made motion almost impossible would be a welcome change from the virtually deserted, and thoroughly lifeless excuse for a street that she was currently standing on.

_You wanted to go away for university, _a part of her brain reminded her for the fourth time today, _you wanted to see a foreign country, you'll have to get used to this. _This thought did little to ease her growing homesickness, and she scolded herself for it. She would never allow herself to be depressed by something so thoroughly pitiful as homesickness, it wasn't in her nature.

To her left she noticed a woman of about forty wandering in the opposite direction to her with an A.I in tow that was carrying what looked like a wooden chair. Since the riots had finally died out and most of the surviving machines were now in the process of constructing their own city, this sight was surprising to say the least, (it was made even more surprising due to the early hour). She felt a short surge of curiosity as to why the machine still served a human, which was accompanied by a small, familiar contempt for the woman who could not it seemed, face the terrifying prospect of carrying something herself and instead had to rely on a machine.

She had never liked the idea of A.Is, not that she had anything against them personally as everyone else seemed to, but more often then not, it seemed that all the A.Is had brought the human race was an increase in unemployment and decodance. The concept of doing something for yourself and hard work for many was now just a distant memory mentioned only in furtive whispers on Halloween to scare small children. After all, why exert yourself when you can get your mechanical slave to do it for you.

Worse was the way humanity had come to treat its slaves, in the early days of robotic workers, a new lower class had emerged all over the globe overnight, and all over the globe, with very few exceptions, people had treated them worse then they would have treated a serial killer, all the while hiding behind the convenient excuse, 'they don't feel anything, so why should we care'.

The view hadn't changed after the infamous B166ER experienced feeling, and allowed his owner to experience the feeling of his head imploding. A.I it seemed, had brought out stupidity, stubbornness and cruelty, three shared traits of humanity, out into the open for all to see.

She stopped herself in mid thought as she came to a road. There weren't many cars about, but after she had almost been run over at the age of five for charging across the road without looking, she had come to accept the wisdom of the warnings that her old school teachers had drilled into her.

Even in the early hours of the morning, where there was no sign of traffic, she still partook in the ritual of road safety that was something of an obsessive-compulsive disorder for her.

Ordinarily she would not be wandering around the streets of Lincoln at 2.39AM, but today was her friend Kendra Thornton's birthday and she felt she should make an appearance. She'd been bored throughout the night, she was reluctant to drink anything and then completely unwilling after she noticed another friend vomit on the shirt of a passing man before promptly collapsing on the floor.

Furthermore she'd had to endure the deafening screeching and repetitive groaning that some deluded fools would call music, and she'd had to refrain from ramming her thumbs through the eyes of one man who she'd caught leering at her breasts. She was certain that for years to come she'd regret not smashing his face to dust.

After she had finally crossed the road, she instantly turned around a corner to avoid catching the attention of two A.O.H troops she'd saw wandering the other way. One of these was stumbling instead of walking and relying on his companion to avoid falling over. Obviously, he was drunk.

Hatred clawed its way to the surface at this sight. The 'Alliance of Humanity', as they called themselves, was basically a mutation of the previous government; they had adopted this new, unified image to reinforce the sense of national pride, (amongst other things.)

Zero-One, as the machines called it, was advancing much faster then anyone could have foreseen. In just two short weeks, it had grown from a few grey, square foundations to a huge collection of towering buildings. The evidence of machine efficiency was all around, and the corrupt bureaucrats that ruled the societies of humanity didn't wish to be outdone by their former slaves. This illusion of world peace was just one of many lies. Scapegoating of machines that were unfortunate enough not to have escaped were commonplace, crimes would be invented for unfortunate machines, and A.I would be demonised as a result of media coverage.

The worst thing to have risen from this new empire however was the A.O.H soldiers. These creatures lurked throughout the globe, (except in the handful of independent countries), they had been given police powers wherever they were, and all of them, without fail, abused them.

Many remaining machines didn't survive long enough to receive a trial. Many were shot on sight by the A.O.H troops. Their violence didn't stop with robots however. There were tales of people being dragged from the street by A.O.H troops for no apparent reason, never to be seen again. The fates of these people were almost certainly painful and fatal. It was a minor miracle if you could spend a day in the outside world and not get harassed, or witness someone else being harassed by an A.O.H minion. Usually, it wasn't too bad, but when it was however, murder, rape, torture, or all three were usually the outcome, _(of course this was never proven.)_

Fighting back wasn't an option. Anyone who tried was more often then not executed, along with their family, any friends that could be scrounged up, co-workers, acquaintances, well wishers, anyone that could be found. The political lords and masters didn't care. As long as their image of superiority was strong, and their easy lives uninterrupted, the little people could suffer on for all they cared.

The few government officials, who had tried to control A.O.H soldier behaviour and shape them into a respectable organisation, as well as punish the wrongdoers, typically wound up dead, and their deaths were then blamed on some other unfortunate machine.

She knew that she would be safe, just so long as she stayed out of sight. A lone female wandering around the streets at almost three in the morning was going to make a very tempting target to a passing A.O.H soldier.

She shuddered at the thought and increased her pace, hoping that the noise made by the ridiculous, heeled shoes that Kendra had forced upon her for the event weren't loud enough to attract their attention.

She knew that she should have left early, or stayed for the main group to depart and rely on safety in numbers, (the A.O.H wouldn't piss about with a large group in the dead of night where they be sure of back up if need be and couldn't clearly see anyone's face and hunt them down later on. She was certain that she'd be safe however; the patrols almost never came down this way. She scolded herself again for not applying the same sense of caution to this situation that she typically applied to crossing the road.

She thought of calling for a taxi before remembering that there was more chance of her growing wings and flying home then catching a taxi at this hour.

_Shit! _She thought; _how could I have been so fucking stupid? No, come on calm down! Fear won't get you anywhere except into their clutches, _she shuddered again, _come on, we can cut through this street and carry on back towards the university. Come on, we'll make it._

She pulled herself off of the wall she'd been leaning on and ventured on, slowly, towards street corner that was now just a few meters ahead of her.

Before she could turn the corner, she felt two hands grip her shoulders tightly, barely a second after her brain had registered this, she found herself being twisted around and pinned against the brick wall.

A sharp pain flew up her spine as she hit the wall, as well as a sudden surge of panic as she noticed the two A.O.H uniforms.

"What's this?" One of them said, the one who had his hands on her, his face was unnervingly close to hers, she could smell the alcohol in his breath.

"A random whore, out for a strole?" This came from the second one, this one female. The look in her eyes was one of a predator tormenting the prey before the kill.

She began to flail her limbs, she aimed a kick as close to the man's groin as she could, which wasn't enough, the kick grazed harmlessly off the man's padded knee. Her upper arms were also still pinned to the wall; the parts of them she could move couldn't reach her target.

"How cute," the woman again, "shall we?" A sickening grunt was the response from the man.

She was flung again, this time so that she was laying face down on the floor. She wasted no time in trying to pull herself up but she was not quick enough.

A knee was pushed into her back, pinning her to the floor once again. Hr hands were also pulled behind her back. Her elbow joints began to ache with her struggling, but she didn't care. All she cared about was getting free.

Something rough began to press against her wrists, she could feel it twisting around them, her struggling continued, but to no apparent avail.

Abandoning dignity, she screamed for help. It didn't really surprise her that no one came. The dark windows she could see all remained dark, no one woke up to investigate where the sound had came from, and even if they had, it was doubtful that they could do anything.

The grasp around her hands vanished, she tried to move them but found herself unable to do so, she managed to turn around to see the two A.O.H soldiers standing over her, their faces showing sick triumph.

The man drew a length of white cotton from his pocket and forced it into her mouth in mid scream. Pulling her head up at the same time, he tightened the gag at the back of her head.

"None of that," he said, his voice disturbingly, and disgustingly gentle, "we don't want to wake the public up do we?"

She now felt the same rough feeling against her ankles, tilting her head downwards, she noticed the woman weaving the cord around them, and finally tightening it.

The two A.O.H minions stepped back to examine their work momentarily, leaving her free to squirm against her restraints and make muffled sounds against her gag. For a moment, she felt as if she would throw up, she managed to force down the bile though. Instantly regretting this after she'd done it. Choking to death now may be the preferable option.

"Come on," said the woman at last, "let's get her to the car."

The two of them grabbed either the restraints on her wrists or ankles and carried her to a nearby...

"Azami!" Adish shouted at the sleeping form of his friend, "Wake up dammit!"

Azami's eyes shot open and she lunged at the figure standing before her, as she had done before after waking from the nightmare that was becoming all too familiar an occurrence. What had happened to her was not an experience that she wanted to repeat, but it refused to leave her alone.

In the moment of chaos, before rational thought sunk in, she threw a punch that caught Adish square in the eye, sending him backwards into a seated position.

Anyone else in the Cheboksary liberation force would have looked at her with shock in his or her eyes. Wondering why a fellow soldier had just clouted them. Adish simply nodded, cradled his bruised eye and pushed himself to his feet. This was the third time he had been clouted by Azami after having to wake her up, the reason for this he still did not know. She had told him that it was the result of waking from a traumatic dream, but she refused to say any more. Adish was concerned, but was more then willing not to intrude into the dark secrets of her past, as well as take the occasional beating if need be.

"I'm sorry." Azami said through gritted teeth, she knew it wasn't Adish who had taken the branding iron to her back, or who had left her bound, naked and screaming in the middle of Lincoln high street. But in the fit of rage that came before sanity set in, that didn't matter, he was there, and he was an outlet for her frustration. She had forced out the apology to try and show herself that she was gaining control of it, that she could still think and act rationally despite the feelings of rage that threatened to consume her.

It was a minor miracle that therapists had been able to restore, at least partially, the strong determined girl that she had once been. She had been moved to a mental institution back in her homeland of Kyushu, and there was a time when she would have gladly ripped apart anyone she had seen.

Those days were over now however, and it was the A.O.H's turn to feel pain and humiliation.

"We're moving out," Adish said with a deadpan voice, before moving off to join the rest of the troops.

Guilt started to break through the fury. Adish was one of Azami's dearest friends, he was nothing like the two animals that had violated her, he never treated her with anything but kindness and patience, and she rewarded this by punching him.

She pulled herself out of the chaotic rush of emotions and forced herself to feel anger, and the urge to exact vengeance, to make sure that the A.O.H pay a thousand times over for what they'd done to her, and the countless ones like her.

**To be continued.**


	8. Changes

**Thanks once more to all reviewing persons.**

**Chapter 8: Changes**

Sentinels dropped two more A.O.H soldiers to the floor from such a height that would cause their bodies to stop working upon landing. Their screams were drowned out by the noise of gunfire.

The A.O.H were pulling back to a distant command centre near the outskirts of the city from which their defence had been co-ordinated. There was no hope of them holding onto Cheboksary now, the New Order had swept in and taken another city from them without any apparent effort.

Adish fired a few shots at an A.O.H soldier that was providing cover fire for his fleeing colleagues. The bullets tore through the man's right shoulder, the intense pain and weakening of the limb caused his gun to fall to the floor. Adish was about to fire off another few shots when he saw the man fly from the pavement. He stared in surprise for a few moments before he noticed the sentinel that had a firm grip around the man's working arm.

Enemy fire sent him twisting back around the corner he was leaning around. Leaning against the building wall that was serving as a surprisingly effective shield, he found standing next to Azami, who looked as if she was barely keeping a lid on her self-control. He considered offering to switch places with her, and abandoned the idea the second after it came to him.

The enemy cover fire, the one that was firing in his direction at least, seemed to come to an abrupt halt. Adish didn't know whether or not a sentinel or another machine, or human, had saw the attacker off, or if he was just encouraging Adish to look round so that he could present a target for the A.O.H shooter to hit.

The sight of a screaming soldier with a large hole in his stomach was his answer. The woman's weapon flew past the corpse after it came to rest on the floor and shattered the window of someone's house. No doubt causing a fresh surge of panic in the people who lived there.

"Let's move it people!" Bellowed Captain Sebastian Hackett from somewhere that Adish couldn't make out. He pulled himself around the corner, firing into the line of running A.O.H personnel as he did so, and flinging himself behind another obstacle before he was taken out by more enemy cover fire or inadvertent friendly fire from behind him.

His fire sent four A.O.H soldiers falling to the floor in howls of pain. There they stayed, their screams growing weaker as blood seeped from their wounds.

Adish, despite his normal loathing of it, felt a strange elation at the enemy's retreat. This seemingly primal feeling of triumph and bloodlust caused him to laugh. This laugh was maniacal, at this moment, he felt as if he could happily lose himself in this orgy of blood and mayhem.

He had felt this way before, and it usually took hours for him to pull himself away from his subconscious urge for chaos and back to rationality. It always became harder to feel guilt for this feeling.

_See a psychiatrist, _he often told himself, _When the war's over, see a psychiatrist._

He stopped laughing and forced himself to focus on the task before him. The enemy was running, but they were not defeated yet. And neither was he, we would not surrender to whatever fucked up part of his subconscious wanted to reduce him to an animal that was worse then any A.O.H soldier. He would fight, and he would kill, but he would do so for the principles that the New Order represented, not because he wanted to.

* * *

General Tyra Turcotte watched the display on the screen with a grin.

The map of Cheboksary was divided by a line and separated into two segments, one of which was red, the other green. With each passing minute, the A.I date display analysed developments in the battle and adjusted the map accordingly. This now involved an increase in the size of the green area, (which represented areas of Cheboksary under the New Order's control), and a decrease in the red area, (A.O.H territory).

Tyra enjoyed watching battles in this fashion, although there was always a part of her that wanted to be out fighting with her troops as opposed to watching them risking, and occasionally loosing, their lives. Despite this however, she rejoiced at the sight of A.O.H defeat. It was rare that she found herself with the time to watch a battle in this fashion. More often then not paperwork swamped her or B294ER dragged her away to some briefing or similarly time consuming task.

As this thought passed through her mind, B294ER appeared in her doorway with a steaming coffee mug in one hand.

"This is new." Tyra said, examining the steaming beverage that her liaison officer had brought her.

"I often find you yawning in the late hours General," he replied with mock-scorn in his voice, "I thought this might help."

"Why thank you." Tyra said elaborately as she took the mug from B294ER.

"Is there anything you require of me General?"

"Not just yet B."

"Very well."

The machine waked around to a position slightly behind Tyra's so that he could observe the battle for Cheboksary as it played. His limited emotions allowed him to feel a slight satisfaction at the ever approaching New Order victory, however that was as much as he could, (for the moment at least), feel for it.

He had never been able to truly comprehend why there was a war in the first place; he was like all functioning machines, a devout servant of logic and reason. And though he knew on an intellectual level that humans were not bound by such constraints, he still could not grasp how anyone could willingly choose courses of action that had resulted in a third global war, or for that matter why much of humanity had always treated A.I with such contempt and disgust, or for that matter why they had created a race of slaves that could think for themselves.

He turned his head slightly to examine the back of Tyra's head. She was a human whom he could call a friend without an instant of hesitation. Despite a number of inefficient and seemingly foolish human tendencies, she owned none of the blind, illogical prejudices that so much of the human race seemed to at one time.

Global hatred of A.I's seemed to diminish with the rise of the Alliance of Humanity, as well as the rise of the New Order. The civilian population of the world had been shown through these tyrants and their militia that humanity was equally as deserving of contempt, hatred, and fear as the machines.

When the New Order came about and began to fight back against the Desperate smattering of racists, the general though of the majority of the globe seemed to be _Hmm, maybe the machines weren't that bad after all. _

After a moment's thought, B294ER decided that _Come on you bastards, hurry up and save us. _Was probably the more likely thought.

He wondered briefly whether if the machines had stayed as slaves of humanity, Tyra would still treat him with respect. _Yes, _he thought, _she would._ He knew that she was nothing like an A.O.H military officer, and even if things had stayed as they were, she wouldn't raise a hand against a machine simply because it was there.

This thought was almost as disturbing as it was comforting. Liberated cities under New Order controlled were populated with humans who, (for the most part), treated machines with courtesy and respect. But how much of this respect was genuine. If things had stayed as they were, how many of those humans would keep showing that respect, and how many would hurl bottles and shout curses at them.

After a few moments of considering this thought, he decided to abandon the train of thought. That wasn't how things were, and it was pointless to dwell on eventualities that were not going to come to pass. Things were, for lack of a better word, good. He knew that he needed to do nothing more then his part to ensure that they stayed that way.

**To be continued (I'll be replying in the next chapter.)**


	9. Progression

**Thanks once more to all reviewers, sorry it took a while to get a new chapter up but college has been getting in the way more then usual.**

**Anyway, on to chapter 9,**

**Chapter 9: Progression**

Azami was seated on an old bench that had been dedicated to a World War 2 veteran. The name was obscured due to the burn marks that now covered most of the chair.

Cheboksary had fallen, the surviving A.O.H troops were currently kneeling on the hard concrete road in front of him, their hands clasped behind their heads and with watchful mechanical humanoid soldiers glaring at them with glowing red eyes.

Apart from those that had been placed on sentry duty, or to deal with a surprisingly zealous collection of civilian looters, the New Order soldiers had little to do but sit upon the floor and wait for the transports to whisk them back to the command centre.

Most of Cheboksary's population were at present, cowering within their houses, many of them probably expected to be killed within a matter of minutes of hours, for all the conventional mistrust of the A.O.H, it was not an easy task not to feel fear at the thought of an opposing army that had been demonised by their former masters so often now being in control of their city.

The dead had been moved, the New Order casualties carried off by two or more sentinels to the makeshift command centre in Pioheh, (there were no separate compartments for them in the transport), there they would be identified and given a decent burial.

The A.O.H soldiers that had fallen in battle would be dragged off by one of more sentinel to a distant part of the city, there they would be identified, catalogued and promptly burned.

Looking around her, Azami noticed that, as per usual, the mechanical soldiers all wore deadpan facial expressions and stood perfectly still, either concentrating fully on the task at hand, or simply standing perfectly still and conserving their power stores.

The human New Order soldiers all seemed to be looking with mixtures of awe and confusion at the sights of blood on the floor. None of them would vomit at this sight, having been witness to the New Order's delightful detachment, (and vomit) educing film. And for many, guilt was impossible. Over 75 of the New Order armed force's human recruits had suffered at the hands of the Alliance of Humanity, some had had friends or family who had been killed as a distraction for A.O.H minions, others, like herself, received first hand experience of pain, rape, torture and mutilation at the hands of the enemy.

She shuddered at the memory and pushed it away in favour of others. Casting a glance at the line of surrendered A.O.H soldiers, she grinned as she saw two people who were now in tears. Clearly terrified of the grisly fate that they believed awaited them. Maybe they were right. Standard POW's were treated with all the usual decency and humility that they probably didn't deserve. Mercy however was not wasted on war criminals. Anyone found guilty of war crimes was promptly executed, or handed over to the machines for 'experimentation'.

This experimentation, as far as Azami knew, basically involved people being tortured to death. She had heard that it had something to do with research into a virtual penal system. If all went well, bothersome criminals and A.O.H soldiers could be stored in tubes and left to rot in a virtual oubliette as opposed to leaching off of resources and wasting space in prisons. What this all had to do with blood curdling shrieks was something of a mystery. Still, listening to them was always fun.

"Attention!" Boomed a porcupine that was waiting overhead, "transports ETA is now approximately 5 minutes, all New Order personnel not assigned to critical tasks are to report to the South eastern outskirts of the city for transportation to OCC-01. Repeat, transports ETA is now approximately 5 minutes, all New Order personnel not assigned to critical tasks are to report to the South eastern outskirts of the city for transportation to OCC-01."

OCC-01 was the New Order's orbital command centre. In the event of a full-scale nuclear bombardment on all occupied territories on the Earth's surface, the fight would continue from the huge beast that circled high above the Earth. Contained within the station were numerous sizable domes, which were home to numerous species of plant and animal life, as well as 2,000 humans. It was also the New Order's primary war machine construction facility and Administrative complex for the entire war.

Due to its sheer size, and its position in a planetary orbit, the base was impossible to hide, however, thanks to the assorted sentinels and anti-missile defences that surrounded the place, the A.O.H were unable to shoot it down. (Not that they hadn't wasted considerable resources in an attempt to.)

Azami pushed herself to her feet and started walking in the direction where the others were heading. Most people were simply following the machines that, unlike them, seemed to know where the Southeastern outskirts of the city were.

"Evening." Adish asked, somehow appearing behind her out of nowhere and startling her in the process.

"It's still the afternoon I think."

Adish started to check his watch but then decided that he didn't really care enough to justify doing so.

"Final count?" Azami asked.

"Twelve." Adish seemed to be trying, albeit unsuccessfully, to conceal the pride in his voice.

"Twelve?" There was genuine surprise in Azami's voice; usually Adish was lucky to earn five kills on an outing, "They grow up so fast." She uttered in a mock maternal voice, sniffing loudly a few times for effect, and earning a stare from a nearby corporal.

"Well what about you? How many A.O.H corpses are your doing?"

"Nine."

"Nine? Well that's not too bad, I guess."

"Ah shut it." Azami swung her arm lightly into Adish's chest. The resulting laughter produced a welcome diversion. Laughter was typically in short supply for soldiers at the front line. Both of them enjoyed the feeling, and the sounds whilst they lasted.

* * *

There were too many empty seats in the transport for Adish's liking, far more soldiers then usual had fallen in this battle, the A.O.H for whatever reason had clung to Cheboksary with a previously unseen tenacity, Adish didn't know if this was because Cheboksary was a strategically important area of if they were just fed up with losing.

Memories of Anshelm Kier being cut to pieces before even firing a shot finally began to emerge to his mind. The kid's shattered corpse, like the other human New Order soldiers', was most probably now being flown to Pioheh where they would be categorised and shoved under the ground to rot.

None of this should have... 

Adish cut himself off, unwilling to repeat any of the pointless statements such as 'this war is pointless' and 'these things happen'. He had learned, after watching other soldiers die in battle, the futility of trying to justify their deaths with the same rhetorical phrases that everyone said at times like these, thinking all the while that they were being helpful.

Adish had learned that trying to sugar coat or justify someone's death only led to greater amounts of anger and pain that you feel for lost comrades. The only reasonable thing to do, in his opinion, was to accept the fact that they were dead and move on. The more you thought about it, the worse it became.

Adish continued, with limited success, to suppress the feelings of guilt and anger that was steadily growing in his mind, as well as the images of the nineteen year old soldier that had taken his advice and been shot to pieces as a result.

**Right, now for replies:**

**Tai Wilson: I doubt it as well. Human types are typically followers, that's why in this fic they have come to accept the machines, because that's what everyone else is doing. Anyway, thanks for reviewing.**

**Thereisnobrain: I think that the assorted gore, blood, shredded organs and so forth is necessary for this story, also its fun. It'd be better if the machines ran things then the bunch of twats we have at the moment. Ah well, what can you do, thanks for reviewing.**


	10. Sacrifice

Thanks to Thereisnobrain for reviewing. Sorry for the wait but I have numerous stories to update at once, also I have far too much coursework on my hands, I probably shouldn't be writing right now, ah well.

Chapter 10: Sacrifice

Andrusha Ivanov, An A.O.H regional commander for several major Russian cities, watched the lights; buildings and large fires of Cheboksary quickly grow smaller as his transport rushed from the battle scene.

When it became clear that the Alliance of Humanity was losing the battle, he couldn't get out of the city fast enough, now that he was out of the metaphorical firing line however, he felt no relief, only outrage and shame.

The machines, the fucking slaves of humanity and their do-gooder accomplices had just chased him out of his home. Now he and a handful of his staff ran like frightened children to the most fortified location, desperate to be out of reach of the New Order bogeymen. Soon there wouldn't be anywhere left to run to.

He shuddered at the thought, he knew all too well what the New Order would do if they ever got their hands on him, no mercy was spared for regional commanders, all were instantly deemed war criminals and a grisly demise awaited them, preceded by peerless agony awaited them.

There were rumours of research centres, where the machines would take war criminals and test their bodies again and again to see they could survive multiple punctures in the flesh before their body gave us, or how much weight a bone could take before it shattered.

He shuddered again. That was what would happen to him before too long, the war thus far was a disaster. All the A.O.H forces could do was serve as delay the enemy advance through allied holdings and inflict single digit casualties on the New Order forces. Territory was being lost with each passing week, mutiny and desertion was commonplace in the conscripted ranks, (only this morning he had heard of another transport that had been hijacked by treasonous soldiers and taken over to New Order territory. There were 2000 soldiers onboard, 2000 less soldiers to help stave off defeat. God only knew how many of those would join the New Order's ranks.

When the UN representative had first approached him and offered the position of regional commander, Ivanov had thought he'd died and gone to Heaven. Five cities placed under his control, power over the police force, completely above the law. He could do whatever the hell he wanted so long as he kept the population in line.

In the corner of his eye, Andrusha noticed his personal advisor glaring at him, it then occurred to him that he was smiling at pleasant thoughts, he banished them and cursed himself for his carelessness. His face reverted to its previous dour expression.

"Fuck." Muttered Gennadius Petrova, former head of security at Ivanov's former residence. It was the seventh time he'd muttered that or a similar expletive.

"Stop your whining!" Snapped Ivanov.

A few heads turned in his direction, but most people were too lost in their own terror or depression to care about raised voices.

Silence passed for a few moments, the sky overhead as black and filled with stars, a welcome change from the orange, seemingly apocalyptic sky of Cheboksary. Below the transport lay picturesque snow filled scenery. The natural beauty seemed to radiate a calm that Ivanov didn't feel.

The door to the passenger compartment opened, someone stepped through that Ivanov didn't recognise.

"Sir," she said, addressing him, "A message just came for you, marked for your eyes only."

"I'll view it later." Came the scornful reply, Ivanov didn't feel up to doing anything except sitting down and wiling the world to leave him alone.

"It's marked urgent sir."

He turned to glare at the messenger, he put as much malevolence and contempt into the glare as he could. He wanted to exact vengeance, in any way possible and on whoever was available, for the loss of Cheboksary.

The woman responded with a far more menacing 'Don't fuck with me' glare of her own. After a few seconds, Ivanov pushed himself to his feet.

"Very well." He said as professionally as he could.

With one hand, the new arrival gestured him down the corridor towards a computer terminal in a secluded area of the transport that was typically used by the crew.

After fitting a pair of ill-fitting headphones on his head, Ivanov hit the flashing 'play' button.

Immediately, an image of Zachary Timmons appeared on the screen. Timmons was one of the UN's many messengers. He was by all accounts, a scheming, bottom-feeding weasel who'd sell his children, (if he had any), to slavery to accomplish his goals, which basically consisted of power, wealth and respect.

He was also smiling.

"Andrusha," the message began, the voice filled with sickening satisfaction, "Tough break with Cheboksary, I'm sure that you did everything you could to keep the city out of enemy hands, ah who am I kidding? I'm sure you ran for cover as soon as word reached your ear that the barbarian hordes were advancing on the gate."

Ivanov's eyelids flew up. A certain level of forced discretion was always used with the A.O.H's ruling bodies. He had only heard this tone of voice used one before, when a fellow Commander was to be scape…

Grim realisation set in, Ivanov's face suddenly went pale, it seemed that death may come sooner then he thought.

A small laugh from Timmons snapped Ivanov's attention back towards the message.

"We can't really afford to have people entrusted with the safety of an Allied city abandoning it in a sudden moment of cowardice now can we? We have standards to uphold. That is why it has been decided that you are to be our latest scapegoat." He laughed again, "Look on the bright side Andrusha, you get to be a dead hero as apposed to a living coward. We've got people drawing up stories for the news as we speak. You know 'Our valiant commander who led his troops valiantly against overwhelming odds', things like..."

Ivanov ripped the headphones from his head and threw them at the monitor. He would be dammed if he was going to be arrested and then executed after landing.

He knew that there was a parachute in one of the aft compartments, if he could get to that, granted he'd never used one before, but how tough could it be? He thought to himself, and what choice did he have?

He swung around, and instantly found himself face to face with the woman who had informed him of the message, now however, she was smiling at him, and pointing a loaded gun at his head.

Andrusha Ivanov had one brief moment to realise what had happened, and that most, if not all of his staff had probably been in on this assassination plot, before his brain, blood, skin and shattered skull fragments decorated the computer screen, where Zachary Timmons was laughing yet again.

To be continued.


End file.
